


Here To Mars

by Dark Stars (ivorybyrd)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Budding Romance, Fluff, Frozen Teardrop based, M/M, Psychic, Roommates, socially inept Trowa, workaholic quatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorybyrd/pseuds/Dark%20Stars
Summary: Quatre and Trowa's relationship in its first stages upon living together: Be as awkward as possible.Don't actually talk to each other without being as short as possible.Carry the blonde to bed at 4AM.Don't mix the dark colors with the pastels. And by all means don't give the Zero System Psychic Powers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this, mostly because I dont have much grasp of what goes on in Frozen Teardrop, but I had this inspiration for a couple headcanons of Trowa and Quatre living together, even going many years without being in a relationship. 
> 
> I've been working on this a couple weeks, which is terrible because I had no clue for a plot. So have this short quick fluff with too much context and backstory. I enjoy it, and I hope you do too!

They each had roles, pre-determined upon agreeing to live together. Firstly as suggested by everyone whom he told of the situation, Quatre gave up ever making any meals ever. Leaving that role to Trowa.

Quatre was more than happy to do dishes, finding it therapeutic. He was also in charge of the computers, the operation systems required for said computers. Fixing and upgrading the electrical, and laundry sorting. Heaven forbid that Trowa’s dark green and blue shirts, ever touch water with his assortment of pastel and pale colored shirts.

Trowa, on the other hand, was in charge of other things, cooking and some cleaning (when it was actually required, both were more than able to clean up after themselves), hardware maintenance, ordering stock for what they needed, and doing said laundry.

 

Quatre sat alone at the main terminal computers, he’d been through his second cup of coffee since dinner. It was near 3AM if not much later, he’d stopped looking at the clock a while ago. His brain had been buzzing at an inspiration that hit him not but an hour before, or maybe it was longer. Time was funny where they were. Time only mattered on earth so in correlation to the fact that they were not on earth, made it pointless to worry about sleep schedules and what was an appropriate time for coffee.

Over the last few years he had gotten his eyes checked and found that the wear he put them through required him to get glasses. He hated them, and barely wore them even after finding the least expensive, least invasive pair possible. Keeping them at his bedside table drawer indefinitely. After a while, Trowa would take them and set them at Quatre’s desk and wait for him to put them on, ignoring anything the other said until it happened.

He tapped his pen against his lip, and mumbled something that only he understood. His stomach ached, but he was so deep in the zone that he’d ignore it. Besides, he should be going to bed soon, and eating before bed was not appropriate.

His mind wandered a little and that was the time his exhaustion hit, it waited in the dark until he started thinking of grabbing the leftovers. His head bobbed down a little, and finally he hit that point again where reading only further lulled him to sleep.

 

Trowa knew how Quatre’s schedule went, this living arrangement had revealed one thing to him. Quatre kept himself busy, only because he couldn't stay alone with his thoughts for too long. Trowa knew that they all dealt with the effects of war in different ways. Quatre, as he noticed, had an involuntary schedule that he pushed himself into. He’d wake up in the mid-morning, eat a protein supplement and pass over the tea for coffee. Shower and dress, then work, skip lunch, and keep working. In the beginning, Trowa had to forcibly remove the other from his chair a few too many times to eat dinner. He came by every hour that he himself wasn't busy doing something and spin the blonde’s chair away form his desk and make him get up and walk around.

Quatre then invested in a tablet that he could quickly pick up and continue working wirelessly without having to worry about losing his zone.

Trowa stood in the doorway, watching the back of Quatre’s head bob up and down. It was time for bed, and like most nights (ok, every night) he would have to usher Quatre to bed. He pushed his back from the doorway and walked over to the terminal. “Ok, time for bed.”

Quatre was sitting in an impossible position, head tilted to the side, chin resting on his shoulder, and temple on the back of his hand. He had apparently fallen asleep midway through cracking his neck.

This was also normal, there had been a time not long ago that nearly made Trowa laugh aloud. He laughed, but no more than a breathy laugh. He’d said the same thing, “Ok, time for bed.” and Quatre was going to retaliate by spinning his chair around to Trowa to debate. As soon as his eyes fell away from the bright blue screen he passed out immediately. The torque of the chair’s spin sent the poor young Quatre out of his chair and into the floor.

What was amusing wasn’t that Quatre fell, but that when Trowa rushed over, Quatre was still asleep, knees tucked under his stomach, face pressed into the cool tile floor, and his arms straightened out at his sides.

 

Trowa still got a chuckle from that when he remembered having to pick up Quatre up by his waist and to bed. Trowa’s acquired role of their little base was carrying the workaholic to bed after he finally passed out. He didn't even need to stay up, he could set an alarm just to wake up enough to make sure that Quatre didn't end up sleeping at his desk.

Being a heavy sleeper, Trowa was able to get Quatre on his back and carry him to his room. Trowa laid him down, pulled off his shoes, glasses, then his pants and shirt. He covered him up and turned off his overhead light, leaving the low-light, amber-red colored lamp on. Some nights this schedule unnerved him, it made him consider removing a certain part from Quatre’s computer so he could maybe take a break. He knew that it was a childish maneuver to deal with a problem. He had already tried getting Quatre up early in order to push him to sleep earlier, that didn't work as some time during the day Quatre napped for three hours, allowing him to stay up even later.

Tonight he looked at Quatre’s face for a few minutes more than usual. He smiled, it was faint but it was there. There was little to say about what he thought when he was around the other. The time spent together had been frustrating at times, but enjoyable none-the-less. He’d already come to terms with what he’d known since gaining his memory back. Its what he knew when he saw Quatre again. He remembered the weird sense of delight when the other came to him, excited about the prospect of working together.

Trowa yawned, and sat up from the edge of the bed.

“Trowa?” Quatre’s voice stirred.

This was different.

“Hey,” He turned his head and looked down at the other. “You need anything?”

Quatre’s eyes were barely open, his bright blue-green eyes were watery. Trowa liked to liken them to the ocean on a bright day.

“Thank you…” Quatre trailed off, he nuzzled into his pillow.

“Anytime.” Trowa turned his head away and smiled. “Good night, Quatre.”

 

Like clockwork, Quatre was up around 9AM, still tired and rough looking. He ate the breakfast that was waiting for him in the warm oven. Trowa had already eaten and gotten to work on some welding projects.

Quatre slipped back into his chair at his terminal, after an hour, he stood up and grabbed the tablet at the side, and the screen turned on. He carried it, heading down to the observation deck. The deck overlooked the docking bay, he heard the faint sound of music through the window. He hit the com button and called out to Trowa.

No response, which forced him to look up and through the window. Trowa had not been sitting in his normal spot working on the welding like he thought. Quatre looked around through each of the windows, still not finding the other. “Trowa?” He called out again.

Feeling a bit put out, Quatre put his tablet down. He trusted Trowa to not get hurt, but also he worried about his…

His mind went blank, and some more human thoughts surfaced. He’d been living in code and instruction manuals for the last several weeks. Was Trowa even his friend? They spent so much time together, but the interaction between them was limited to meals, small discussions about work, and when Trowa took him to bed.

He grabbed a lift to the entry to the docking bay, and stepped out onto the railing that lead to one of the mobile suits. “Trowa?” He called out again.

He climbed the ladder next to the suit, the only way Trowa couldn't hear was if he was inside the cockpit. “Tro-“ he stopped himself, Trowa was probably tired. Trowa had passed out in the prototypes before, and if he remembered right, the other would have back pain again. That was the best excuse to disrupt Trowa’s sleep. So he leaned over and reached for the outside latch and before his fingers touched it it swung open.

Quatre jumped, his foot slipped, and he went flying forward. He stopped mid-motion when a pair of much stronger arms wrapped around him. His face was pressed into a strong chest, smashing his glasses to his face.

“Hey,” Trowa said softly.

Quatre’s weight kept him from pulling away easily. “Mnnph.” he mumbled out.

Trowa shook his head, a smile creeping up on his lips. “Here,” he pushed Quatre back to standing on the walkway.

“Sorry about that, I was calling for you,” Quatre pulled the glasses off and wiped them off on his shirt.

“Sorry,” Trowa was still short on words. He waited for Quatre to finish.

“Its ok, but I wanted to let you know that I have the new system upgrade,” Quatre smiled, proud of himself.

Trowa’s smile dropped, “The ‘rebuilt zero system’ one?”

“Yes, and I know you’re not keen, but I tried some of those patches, reformatted the code and added a bit of my own touch to it,” he explained. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Trowa’s shoulders dropped. “Ok.”

Quatre smiled and reached into his coat pocket. “Here,” he handed the drive to Trowa.

 

Trowa was skeptical, he didn't doubt Quatre, who was a certified genius, but he knew that sometimes Quatre’s late nights had him coming up with some less-than-realistic ideas. He sat back down and hit the latch, looking at the blonde disappearing behind the doors.

He smiled, the warm feeling hadn't left yet though. Seeing Quatre’s pink face after they separated, hearing his concern, it had been so rare to see Quatre coming out of his work coma. He slipped the drive into the makeshift boot deck. Trowa's hand slid across the console, sliding the switches up. The pod buzzed to life, and the screen illuminated.

Trowa waited as the new system started up, the install was slow, but constant. He waited patiently and finally called out through the speaker, "Quatre, it's installing fine so far, I'll let you know."

"Thank you, Trowa, I'm headed back up to the command room."

Then his voice was gone.

The install finished, Trowa took a deep breath and typed the command to start. "Booting up," he whispered.

There was still no response, but the lights around him remained blue so that was ok.

'The com link patch isn't working, after you're done come upstairs.' A message popped up on his screen, signed with a Q.

He smiled, favoring the interaction in person over feed or digital messages. The system was as normal as ever, the bright blue screen showed a image of the docking warehouse, it had added effects including climate control, the measuring was better placed atop the screen instead of the bottom. He had to hand it to Quatre, it was quite a bit more user friendly.

“Trowa…” he heard, and he looked up from the switchboard.

“Huh?” he thought Quatre had come back, but the voice was in his ear. The screen was still clear of anyone else. There were no extra workers there today, and he knew he heard Quatre’s voice.

“I hope it works out well, I promise I will take a break if it works out right,” he heard echo through the inside speakers.

“Quatre, is the com back up?” He called out, there was no response.

“Maybe if he comes up, I won’t lose my nerve, I just…” the voice stopped, “I can’t do it,” it whined.

Trowa chuckled, the mic must have been out on his end.

“I need to get over it, I thought that maybe having him here would open up something,” Trowa smiled at the little confession. Part of him amused by Quatre’s honestly while alone. “I kinda wanted to be the one to try and carry him to bed, that would have been hard, I’m not very strong, its not like he’s fat but oh goodness those muscles.”

Trowa shifted in his seat, feeling the heat rise up under his cheeks. “I shouldn't be listening to this,” he said and started to shut down.

“I need to stop thinking of him like th-“ The sound cut off and Trowa took a deep breath. Even if they were about him, Quatre’s private commentary was still private. He hit the latch and jumped out. He had to tell Quatre about the mic not working, it’d be an easy fix.

He could always prompt Quatre, try to sway a conversation away from work. He sulked, he was just as bad as the blonde as making small talk, or talk at all. He just loved listening to Quatre blather on about anything.

The doors to the control room opened and he saw Quatre with a cup of coffee. The other looked up when he heard him, smiling warmly. “How did it go?”

“Good, the mic was down,” Trowa walked to a seat and sat down. “I could hear you, but I guess you didn't hear me.”

Quatre blinked, “I didn't have my mic on, actually I was in the kitchen making some coffee.”

Trowa’s head reared back some and he looked around. “I heard you talking though.” He made a sound.

“What was I saying?” Quatre gave him a bemused smile.

Trowa tried to remember, of course the one thing that stood out was the muscle comment, “Carrying me to bed?” he blurted, and realized that wasn’t something he wanted to reveal that he knew.

Quatre had been mid drink and he coughed and spat out the coffee and set it down. “What?!”

Trowa stiffened. “Sorry, I didn't listen much after that, they are your private thoughts.”

“That’s what they were, private thoughts,” Quatre emphasized, waving his hands about. “I wasn’t saying that aloud.”

Trowa could see the wheels spinning in Quatre’s head, and knew he had to derail this train before it left the station. “Quatre, you made the zero system psychic, I suggest we destroy it.”

Quatre’s face fell. “Trowa?”

“No one should have that kind of advantage,” he said softly. “Logically knowing the thoughts of soldiers before they die, can compromise anyone who is using the system. There could be a lot of psychological damage, not to mention; we don’t know the long term exposure.”

Quatre was staring intently at him. “You’re right.” He smiled and blushed, “Should I know what else you heard?”

Trowa straightened up and looked away. “That’s all, nothing too important,” he said.

Quatre bit his lips together and nodded, “Ok.”

“Quatre?”

“Yes?” Quatre had stopped mid-turn towards the console.

Trowa hesitated for a moment, “Let's go out to eat tonight?”

Quatre’s lips curved into a soft smile, “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
